Flashed into eyes that loved them; while beside them,
After exceeding storm, the Waters of Life
With soft sea-sound subsided. Then God said,
"Tis finished-all is well!' But as He spake
A voice, from out the lonely Deep beneath,
Mocked!
Then to the Seraph at the Gate,
Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes
For ever, God cried, 'What is he that mocks?'
The Seraph answered, ''Tis the Man accurst!'
And, with a voice of most exceeding peace,
God asked, 'What doth the Man?'
'Upon a desolate peak, with hoar-frost hung,
Amid the steaming vapors of the Moon,
He sitteth on a throne, and hideously
Playeth at Judgment; at his feet, with eyes
Slimy and luminous, squats a monstrous Toad;
Above his head pale phantoms of the Stars
Fulfil cold ministrations of the Void,
And in their dim and melancholy lustre
His shadow, and the shadow of the Toad
Beneath him, linger. Sceptred, throned, and crowned, The foul judgeth the foul, and sitting grim,
With a voice of most exceeding peace
The Lord said, 'Look no more!'
Broke with a gentle sea-sound gladdening
God turned and blest them; as He blest the same,
A voice, from out the lonely Void beneath,
Then to the Seraph at the Gate,
Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes
For ever, God cried, 'What is he that shrieks ?
The Seraph answered, ''T is the Man accurst!'
And, with a voice of most exceeding peace,
God asked, 'What doth the Man?'
'Around him the wild phantasms of the fog
Moan in the rheumy hoar-frost and cold steam.
Long time, crowned, sceptred, on his throne he sits
Playing at Judgment; then with a shrill voice cries
"'Tis finished, thou art judged!" and, fiercely laughing
He thrusteth down an iron heel to crush
The foul Toad, that with dim and luminous eyes
So stareth at his Soul. Thrice doth he lift
His foot up fiercely-lo! he shrinks and cowers
Then, with a wild glare at the far-off Gate,
Rushes away, and, rushing thro' the dark,
Shrieks!'
With a voice of most exceeding peace
The Lord said, 'Look no more!'
The living, spiritual Waters, broke,
Fountain-like, up against the Master's Breast,
Giving and taking blessing. Overhead
Gathered the shining legions of the Stars,
Led by the ethereal Moon, with dewy eyes
Of lustre these have been baptized in fire,
Their raiment is of molten diamond,
And 't is their office, as they circling move
In their blue orbits, evermore to turn
Their faces heavenward, drinking peace and strength
From that great Flame which, in the core of Heaven,
Like to the white heart of a violet burns
Diffusing rays and odor. Blessing all,
God sought their beauteous orbits, and behold!
The eyes innumerably glistening
Were turned away from Heaven, and with sick stare,
Like the blue gleam of salt dissolved in fire,
They searched the Void, as human faces look
On horror.
To the Seraph at the Gate,
Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes,
God cried, 'What is this thing whereon they gaze?'
The Seraph answered, 'On the Man accurst.'
And, with a voice of most exceeding peace,
God asked, 'What doth the Man?'
'O Master! send Thou forth a tongue of fire
To wither up this worm! Serene and cold,
Flooded with moon-dew, lies the World, and there
The Man roams; and the image of the Man
In the wan waters of the frosty sphere
Falleth gigantic. Up and down he drifts,
Worm-like, black, venomous, with eyes accursed,
Waving his bloody hands in fierce appeal,
So that the gracious faces of Thy Stars
Are troubled, and the stainless tides of light
Shadow pollution. With wild, ape-like eyes,
The wild thing whining peers thro' horrent hair,
And rusheth up and down, seeking to find
A face to look upon, a hand to touch,
A heart that beats; but all the World is void
And beauteous. All alone in the Cold Clime,
Alone within the lonely universe,
Crawleth the Man accurst!'
'Doth he repent?' And the fair Seraph said,
'Nay he blasphemeth! Send Thou forth Thy fire!'
But with a voice of most exceeding peace,
Out of the Shrine where unbeheld He broods,
God said, 'What I have made, a living Soul,
Cannot be unmade, but endures for ever.'
And in a low voice named the lost one's name;
The wild Wind that for ever beats the Gate
Caught up the word, and fled thro' the cold Void.
'T was murmured on, as a lorn echo fading,
From peak to peak. Swift as a wolf the Man
Was rushing o'er a waste, with shadow streaming
Backward against a frosty gleaming wind,
When like a fearful whisper in his ear
'T was wafted; then his blanched lips shook like leaves In that chill wind, his hair was lifted up,
He paused, his shadow paused, like stone and shadow, And shivering, glaring round him, the Man moaned,
'Who calls?' and in a moment he was 'ware
Of the white light streaming from the far Gate,
And looming, blotted black against the light,
The Seraph with uplifted forefinger,
And ere the Man could fly,
The wild Wind in its circuit swept upon him,
And, like a straw, whirled him, and lifted him,
And cast him at the Gate, a bloody thing-
Mad, moaning, horrible, obscene, unclean;
A body swollen and stainèd like the wool
Of sheep that in the rainy season crawl
About the hills, and sleep on foul damp beds
Of bracken rusting red. There, breathing hard,
Glaring with fiery eyes, panted the Man,
With scorched lips drooping, thirsting as he heard
The flowing of the Fountains far within.
Then said the Lord, 'Is the Man there?' and 'Yea,'
Answered the Seraph pale. Then said the Lord,
'What doth the Man?' The Seraph, frowning, said: 'O Master, in the belly of him is fire,
He thirsteth, fiercely thrusting out his hands,
And threateneth, seeking water!' Then the Lord
Said, 'Give him water - let him drink!'
Stooping above him, with forefinger bright
Touched the gold kerbstone of the Gate, and lo!
Water gushed forth and gleamed; and lying prone
The Man crawled thither, dipt his fevered face,
Drank long and deeply; then, his thirst appeased,
Thrust in his bloody hands unto the wrist,
And let the gleaming Fountain play upon them,
And looking up out of his dripping hair,
Grinned mockery at the giver.
Said low, 'How doth the Man?' The Seraph said: 'It is a Snake! He mocketh all Thy gifts,
And, in a snake's voice half-articulate,
Blasphemeth!' Then the Lord: Doth the Man crave To enter in?' 'Not so,' the Seraph said,
-' 'What saith he?' 'That his Soul is filled
With hate of Thee and of Thy ways; he loathes
Pure pathways where the fruitage of the Stars
Hangeth resplendent, and he spitteth hate
On all Thy Children. Send Thou forth Thy fire!
In no wise is he better than the beasts,
The gentle beasts, that come like morning dew
And vanish. Let him die!' Then said the Lord:
'What I have made endures; but 't is not meet
This thing should cross my perfect work for ever.
Let him begone!' Then cried the Seraph pale :
'O Master! at the frozen Clime he glares
In awe, shrieking at Thee!' 'What doth he crave?'
Neither Thy Heaven nor by Thy holy ways.
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